


Rhythm of Suffering

by AkakoDukes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Brotp, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkakoDukes/pseuds/AkakoDukes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Lancelot sacrificing himself, his friends grieve on their way back to Camelot in their own ways.<br/>Notes: Takes place in 4.02 before the funeral pyre. No romance unless you squint. Though it could be implied Gwaine/Lancelot and eventual Percival/Gwaine</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rhythm of Suffering

Their camp was somber this evening among the darkened wood. Safe from the Dorocha, each member of their band was feeling the loss of Lancelot. 

Percival watched from against a tree, on watch, even though there was no threat here any longer besides the usual beasts that roamed. Merlin, with tears dried across his pale face, tended Arthur, who looked haunted as he watched the flames from their campfire dance. Elyan and Leon had finally fallen asleep after much debate over who would take the first watch. 

Percival himself was all right, despite the scratch on his arm from the Wyvern. He keenly felt the loss of his dear friend, but he also knew there was no way to bring him back. That isn’t what Lancelot would have wanted. He had made such a sacrifice so that the rest of them would live, and that’s what Percival planned to do. 

All that was left was Gwaine, who hadn’t spoken a single word since he had woken and been told the news. He’d just let Merlin tend his head and went straight to find a spot to stare off into nothing. Percival turned that way, expecting to see him propped up against his seat, asleep, like he usually was. Instead, he was met with a sword resting against a stone, red cloak on the ground. Instantly alert, he scanned the perimeter of their camp. 

Arthur immediately noticed the tension. “Percival?” He sat up a little straighter, as always, putting duty to his people first. 

“Gwaine’s gone.” 

Just like that, he had Merlin’s full attention as well. “What? No, maybe he’s just gone to pee.” The servant’s face was drawn though, worried. “I’ll go check.”

“I’ll go with you,” Percival immediately offered. This was something he could do. Protect his friends. “Sire,” he began but was cut off. 

“Go, find him.” There was a firmness in the Prince’s voice that gave Percival more strength than he thought he could hold. 

With a nod, Merlin came to stand with Percival. He moved with purpose, tugging the knight’s arm as he left their encampment. The night was silent around them, as if the presence of the Dorocha had lent a sort of cacophony to the air. Merlin, quiet as a mouse, led the way, turning his head this way and that as if that would help find Gwaine faster. 

They continued like this for a little while, before Percival heard it. A soft grunt, wood smacking against wood, a snarl. He grabbed Merlin’s arm gently, and nodded in that direction as he pulled his sword. The smaller man darted quickly toward the noise, heedless of a possible danger. Percival had no choice but to follow. He would have to look out for Merlin and fight at the same time. 

But Merlin had stopped short, by a smaller tree in a less dense part of the forest. There was Gwaine, stripped of the armor that made him a knight, laying siege to a large willow by a stream. Sweat soaked his features, and grief made his face raw as he picked up another branch to swing at the now battered trunk. The cry he let out was primal, and Percival was sure the sound would haunt him for many nights to come. 

Percival held out his hand to Merlin, and made a gesture back toward camp. They’d been gone long enough. But when Merlin turned to look up at him, his eyes were filled with tears. He shook his head and motioned Percival back instead. “No one should have to be alone in this,” he whispered. 

“I’ll stay with him.” A violent Gwaine was nothing new, but a grieving one was. Percival could handle things if they got out of hand. “Go back to Arthur.” 

Bright blue eyes watched him for a few moments, to make sure, before Merlin nodded, appeased. There was a quick, reassuring pat to Percival’s arm, before Merlin disappeared back into the wood, as quiet as he’d come. 

Percival waited, hoping that Gwaine’s anger would abate enough that he’d be able to get close without getting a piece of potential firewood to the face. He didn’t have to wait long before Gwaine ran out of branches capable of causing damage, and instead, began to lay into the cracked wood with his fists. 

The first punch drew a soft grunt from Gwaine’s lips, though he shut them hard, breath hissing through his nose as the second connected. A third, a fourth, and a fifth before Percival’s large hand caught his and pushed it away from the trunk. 

Gwaine spun, and even though he could tell it was his usual partner in crime, he still tried to get a swing in against the taller knight. The growl that issued forth from Gwaine’s throat was almost terrifying, if one didn’t know the reason behind the noise. When Percival finally got a good look at Gwaine’s face, his eyes shone with unshed tears, and Percival could feel his own fill up in response. “Gwaine,” Percival said, voice tight as he easily caught another punch, and another, holding the fists firm in his palms. 

“It should have been me!” Gwaine tried to pull away, arms that were normally so strong weak in the aftermath of all of that rage. His eyes glittered, even as he stubbornly kept refusing to let the tears free to stream down his face. 

What else could Percival do but let go of the fists and wrap the roguish knight up in his large arms? For his own safety; Percival could feel the blood from where the trunk had ripped Gwaine’s fists open on his own palms. Never before had Percival been more aware of how much shorter Gwaine was than himself. It made him tighten his arms protectively, as if his arms could keep out the world that made Gwaine so sad. “I miss him, too.” 

Fists beat at Percival’s torso, peppered him with hits that would have left mighty bruises had he not had his mail on. Warm breath against his neck where he held Gwaine’s head, mainly so he wouldn’t use his head like he used his fists. Percival didn’t fancy a broken nose this night. Gwaine cursed and struggled until his strength finally gave out and he just trembled finely in Percival’s arms. Words spilled once more from Gwaine’s mouth, and as much as Percival was glad to have his friend speak again, the subject matter was enough to make those tears fall from the tallest knight’s eyes at last. “It should have been me. I hear what you all say about me. Lan-” Gwaine’s voice broke here, “Lancelot would have- should have- The kingdom would not weep my loss so.”

Percival tightened his grip so much that it was probably hurting Gwaine, but as he took a breath, he knew what needed to be said. “I would. Merlin would. We all would. Even Arthur.” He took another breath, and thanked the stars, and maybe Lancelot, that this time, words came easily. “And I would be out here with Lancelot instead of you, offering this same shoulder while we both grieved for you.”

Finally, Percival felt the warm droplets of tears on his neck. Gwaine’s posture didn’t change in the slightest, and his voice never betrayed him. If not for that moisture on his neck, Percival would have never known that Gwaine wept at all. “Why is it that the good must die young and brigands like us live on?” 

Percival didn’t know whether or not his friend sought an answer for this question, but as before, the answer came unbidden to him. “So that us brigands know how to live when they’re gone.”

That’s when the quiet overtook them, and when Gwaine’s legs gave out, Percival sank with him. When the tears on their faces had long since dried, they separated. Gwaine refused to look Percival in the eyes and shivered in the chill outside of his friend’s arms. 

“Here,” Percival offered as he removed his cloak and wrapped it around Gwaine’s shoulders. It was overly large and long on his friend, but it was already warm. 

Gwaine sank into it for a moment before he finally looked up, eyes a bit puffy, but face composed. “You’re the one with no sleeves, you great giant,” he said softly. It was a forced attempt at normalcy. One that Percival appreciated. 

“I run hot.” It was worth making the obvious joke to see a smile turn up the corners of Gwaine’s lips. “Come on.” 

Gwaine attempted not to trip as he went to retrieve his mail from where he’d dumped it in his rage. Percival laughed softly, pressed Gwaine forward, and caught his arm as he stumbled over the longer hem of Percival’s cloak. 

When Gwaine had put a few yards between the two of them, Percival turned his gaze skyward between the boughs of the trees. “Thank you Lancelot. You always knew what to say.”

Back at camp, Merlin fussed over Gwaine’s hands, while Arthur looked relieved, even while he cuffed the back of Gwaine’s head. Percival once again took watch. When Gwaine joined him, he didn’t protest, only accepted the company with a brush of shoulders. 

Percival didn’t get his cloak back until they were about to ride into Camelot. The other knights didn’t question it.

**Author's Note:**

> “If I can see pain in your eyes then share with me your tears. If I can see joy in your eyes then share with me your smile.”  
> ― Santosh Kalwar


End file.
